I'm Your Son: I Am Scum
by ThisIsYourSong
Summary: Alex relives a terrifying night with his father. Dives deep into Alex's childhood and how his father's actions have affected him. Mature subject matter -- descriptive acts of abuse.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing; characters are property of 'Grey's Anatomy'.

**AN:** This is a pretty intense piece of writing, probably the heaviest thing I've ever written. It's Alex centered, about how his dad treated him when he was little. Also, Alex's point of view.

**Warnings:** All different kinds of abuse, mature subject matter.

I'm really proud of this particular piece, so please read and review. Thanks.

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By the time I was ten, I could recognize more different kinds of booze than you can now, it was all over my house, I'd trip over bottles coming home from school when I opened the front door and those were the days I knew were gonna be hell and they always were."

'Alex, is that you?' The words would hit me like a bat, his voice scared the shit out of me and I could just feel myself shrink as soon as his words hit me. He became impatient quick, moods changing like tides, 'get your useless ass in here, bastard!'

I would creep in the living room, the room wasn't worth the title, it was gross, disgusting and stunk like alcohol and ... burning substance that I shouldn't have known about as a ten year old.

"Get me another drink... now."

The man needed many things, but another fucking drink wasn't one of those things and I knew how far gone he was, that he probably couldn't get himself up off the couch under his own power. I felt that all too familiar twinge of anger that I know so well today, "you don't need another drink, Dad."

I spoke before I thought about the consequences of my words, "don't disobey your father, boy. What the fuck is wrong with you, what makes you so God damn stupid?"

I realized too late that a glass bottle was coming straight for me, I was lucky that it hit me in the leg instead of my head, the seconds as it hit me slowed down completely and I watched as the blood rose through my dirty jeans, staining the denim.

The thing that made me maddest was how even after he knew he inflicted pain on me, hurt me badly enough to draw blood, he still didn't care ... I can't explain how worthless that made me feel. But on the upside, at least his dirty hands weren't on me in the dark.

"That'll teach you to disrespect me," he breathed at me as I finally did hand him his drink, "get the fuck out of my sight, fucking waste of space."

I couldn't say anything, my eyes just staring at the dirty floor with a needle sticking out from under the couch, I picked up the needle and placed it on the table, limping as quickly as I could on a bleeding leg out of the room and to my sad excuse for a bedroom.

I knew pretty well how to clean myself up, so I did the best I could, it hurt so much I couldn't stop the tears from stinging my eyes, but I couldn't let him hear my cry. I tried to breathe as I finished cleaning myself up, but this feeling was eating up all the air in the room.

I knew that when it got dark soon, I couldn't protect myself. I was too little and completely voiceless, I relived a fucking nightmare every day ... when the bedroom door would open, the dim light from the hallway would break the darkness and begin my panic. Rough, uneven footsteps scraped on the floorboard, this is what fear sounded like, it wasn't very loud, but it made my ears hurt. As he got close, he would lean over me, close enough that I could smell his stench, I still smell it sometimes just from memory and it's enough to wake me from sleep; that is what my fears smelled like. When he would touch me, his hands felt like fire, it was enough to make me pray for death so I wouldn't have to go through this anymore. My whole body was screaming, but I didn't make a sound, I was totally paralyzed from fear and you've never felt fear until you've experienced this, this is what fear feels like.

It was so disgusting, I feel disgusting to this day and I just want it to go away, I know that I do wrong in my life are because of him, truly. I know I am emotionally stunted, mean and like to inflict hurt on others because if someone else can feel at least a little bit of what I feel, maybe that is less I'll have to feel myself. It's stupid, it never works that way, but it's what I've got to work with. I don't see the good in me, I see someone that is so fucking stuffed of black it puts a shadow around them so much so that it'll always be there.

---

"Alex," someone says and I'm brought out of my nightmare, realizing that I'm sitting in the corner of a dark supply closet by myself in the hospital. I feel my face, my cheeks are damp and whoever is standing in the doorway right now is seeing me cry. I look in the doorway, "Meredith..."

She wordlessly enters the closet, shuts the door and sits down beside me.

She doesn't say anything, which I'm so thankful for.


End file.
